


Jealousy

by theprincessed



Series: Love, Sex and Magic: Random Ficlets [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dancing, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessed/pseuds/theprincessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis spots Harry dancing with strangers at a club. He tries to play him at the same game, but quickly gets bored and decides to drag him away for some fun instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

Louis picks up his glass from the sticky table and takes another sullen gulp, eyes fixed on the dancefloor as he sits alone. The others are...somewhere, but he's not really bothered about them. They can do what they want. Harry though, Harry's _actually_ doing what he wants and its turned Louis slightly disgruntled. He's entitled to, just like the other boys, but that doesn't mean Louis has to like it. Not when he's out to party and he thought...well, he's not sure what he thought.

They're in Sweden again, writing and recording some tracks for their next album because they enjoyed their experience last time and they decided to sample the night life. They're not exactly anonymous here, as things like Youtube can attest to, but it's also a cool place and they haven't been particularly bothered yet when they wish for some downtime. Louis just wishes that didn't mean Harry flirting with anyone who crosses his path. He's not exactly a dancer, but he's out there shuffling around and Louis hopes Zayn or someone will come along and drag him out of his seat because he's not sure how much more he can take of hips and a long torso and a crooked smirk before he does something reckless. It doesn't take much to push any of his buttons, whether that's platonic dares or sexual possibilities and Harry _knows_ that which makes it all the more frustrating.

Louis releases an annoyed, but hopefully relieving breath and sweeps his hair aside when it falls too close to his eyes. He's got his elbow gingerly on the table and his hand is raking through the strands to get them to stay up and somehow the movement of his arm must alert Harry to remember his presence and because he's forever stuck to the edges of the dancefloor - like he _wants_ to make sure Louis sees him being such a devastating flirt - their eyes effortlessly lock on each other. It seems that Louis' stony faced expression that he doesn't bother to hide because its Harry causes the smirk to Harry's mouth to deepen in its intensity and he plucks the fingers of the girl in front of him high in the air, turning them so she giggles and has to twirl underneath his arm. It's oddly placed in a darkened club, but that's part of what makes Harry charming. He does his own thing and fuck the consequences, which are usually favourable anyway. It’s one of the many things him and Louis have in common. Louis feels his eyes narrow and he downs the last of his drink in one before slapping a palm on the table and pulling himself out of the seats with the thought that _two can play that game_ flashing behind his eyelids.

Harry simply gives him a closed mouth smile as Louis stalks towards him but then Louis consciously half turns so his back is to Harry and doesn't care that he's sort of by himself in a undulating sea of strangers. All the better for it. People tend to stick to their own groups unless they're out on the pull and whilst Louis fits into neither, he still flashes the nearest girl a grin and even though she looks away almost immediately, like catching his gaze was a mistake, he can just about make out the dimple in her cheek. He starts small with the aim of building up and not too concerned if Harry's noticing him or not. Let’s just say, he has an idea what his best assets are because usually Harry's quick to tell him enough, through words or his hands. 

There's a nod of the head and a side to side of the feet, his movement restricted anyway by the amount of people surrounding him. The girl he looked at first slides imperceptibly closer and he squashes down the giddiness at the fact that Harry has probably realised what he's doing, affecting a nonchalant attitude on the outside. The current song slows from frentic into a beat with more bass and dirtier, which is just timed perfection. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a grinning Niall collapse into the seats they'd claimed followed by Liam and Zayn, but they've seen Harry or Louis or both play these sorts of games before now. They usually fondly roll their eyes and look away, certain that one of them will make it up to the other soon enough. The girl steps into his personal space and slides a hand slowly from his collarbone to his shoulder. He feels the touch through the thin cotton of his low-necked t-shirt, her fingernail scraping over the rougher material of his red braces. He shuffles to the side to get a view on Harry and he's hesitant to lead her on at all, but she doesn't seem too keen - just wants a harmless dance with someone who can move their feet - so Louis' hand falls lightly to her waist. From his peripheral vision, he sees another twirl but can't know if it's the same girl and Harry's losing his cool by pulling out the same tricks or if it’s a different girl altogether without actually turning his head. He won't. This isn't over yet, it hasn't reached the crescendo Louis' searching for.

With her grip on his shoulder, she's uses it for leverage to push her hips forward and back in a body roll. For a split second, he's impressed and is half tempted to respond, to copy, but then his eyes dart to Harry almost without his consent and he feels his jaw clench. It seems Harry had no such qualms about getting so close if his position of having a girl stuck to his front and a guy as tall as him at his back is anything to go by. Louis watches almost forgetfully static in the crowd as the slim hand of the girl slips up into curls and male hands press onto his thighs, but what actually pulls Louis apart is that Harry's eyes aren't focused on the guy or the girl. They're fixed entirely on Louis, daring him to say it, to act on the impulses he had the moment Harry stepped out wearing that shirt which clings in all the right places. He mutters an apology to the girl in front of him, feeling her hand drop from his shoulder as he grits his teeth and his eyes darken with the possessive need to remind Harry just who exactly he belongs to. Louis can take flirting, in turn does it to other people, and can even take the odd one night stand, but when he and Harry are in bed together - wrapped up in arms or fucking each other senseless - it’s just them and that's the way it's going to stay.

Louis doesn't hesitate to squeeze himself right in between the guy and Harry's spine, murmuring an unheard and uncaring "excuse me" before his fingers circle Harry's wrist and yank him free of their sandwiched grasp. Harry sticks close by him and pulling him out doesn’t cause an outraged ruckus, so Louis keeps pushing his way through drunkenness and dancing, his fingers never letting go of Harry’s wrist. He’s not sure if that heat he can feel is his own hot-tipped jealousy or if it’s just the natural warmth of another body – Harry’s body – nearby, but either way he uses it as fuel instead of a distraction and breathes out in relief when they emerge from the claustrophobia and into clear space by an emergency exit. Harry laughs throatily next to his ear as Louis’ gaze flickers from left to right, undecided, because he’s only thought this far. He wanted to get Harry out of the clammy grip of strangers and back into his and that’s what he’s got. 

Quickly, he spots the toilets to his right and, as Harry’s amusement rings in his ears above the heavy bass line of music, Louis feels a surge of determination run through him enough to shove Harry in front of him with a palm planted squarely between his shoulder blades. He stumbles all the way there, giddy from the rougher treatment, and it only seems to spur Louis on. It’s like it can’t be helped now, like something has to happen like this for the tension to release. They crash though the door and Louis grabs Harry by his shirt collar half to support him and the other to drag him into the nearest stall. He pauses when Harry’s squashed against one side, listening out to hear if they’re alone. Satisfied that luckily they are, Louis closes his fist tightly around the pale blue material of Harry’s shirt and gives him another push to make him understand.

“What was that?” he asks between gritted teeth and a set jaw.

“Just having fun, Lou.” Harry replies with a lazy smile, “Like you.”

Well aware that he solely wishes to wind him up to the point of retaliation, Louis growls and lunges to claim Harry’s mouth with his own. The kiss is sharp and already heated, waves of feeling flowing between them as Louis shifts his other hand up to thread through soft curls. In contrast to the gentle beginning, he tugs on Harry’s hair to make him gasp and thus open his lips more.

“Jealous, are we?” he pants when he has a millisecond of chance, staring at Louis as the pressure increases on his chest in warning to fully immobilise him.

“You know I am.” Louis answers into his neck, breathing him in, “I don’t want other people touching you _like that_.”

Although his fingers tighten in the shirt, Louis pulls his body a few inches away and squeezes his eyes shut as the burn of need and rage and desire mix to make a powerful cocktail apparently better than any drug. He feels fevered and flushed and Harry is blissfully pliant beneath his hands, almost like he expected something like this would happen eventually, even wanted it to. Louis thinks this may be true when he hears a moan and the side of Harry’s face brush against his, nuzzling as Louis slips his hand to the front of his jeans. The promise seems to ignite the spark inside him and Louis holds back an exhilarated grin as Harry grabs his head with both palms and swoops forward for another kiss. He lets go of his shirt and feels his way with clumsy, now giddy fingers as he pushes Harry’s jeans and underwear past his knees and the shiver passes between them. Louis reaches around to smooth his spine in a soothing motion, up and down and repeat before he decides that he will undress too because it’s practical and he presses his smile into Harry’s mouth as he tilts his head, fusing them for the duration. He closes his hand around both their erections and strokes quickly, wanting this to serve as a fast and dirty reminder of how Harry can avoid his envious wrath, even though he knows all too well that he won’t ever listen.

Harry’s fingers try and join his but Louis shakes him off, flicking at his hand until he withdraws with a protesting whine shooting up from the back of his throat to make Louis lift from him and press his hips close instead. His palms come to rest on Harry’s shoulders, keeping him pinned against the cubicle wall, and he rocks momentarily onto his toes so that their cocks slide temptingly rather than create any hard friction.

“No,” he says firmly when they break their alcohol infused lip-lock and Louis thinks Harry is going to speak, “Want you to come from this, just from my hands. Show me how much of a slut for touch you really are.”

“Fuck – yeah – ” he agrees easily with a roughened voice as Louis continues to push against him, building a short rhythm from that until he’s obviously sure that Harry will comply with his plan, “ – mm – yes – now, Lou, please – your hands – fuck – _your hands_ – ”

Louis feels beats of his heart drop to his stomach, to his toes, to his cock as he hears Harry talk his way into favour and he reacts, returning to his earlier work to bring them both off but especially his very naughty boyfriend. To speed things up, he twists his wrist and dances his fingers over the crowns, trembling when it’s just right. He takes to staring down at the picture their groins make, as visually flushed as his cheeks feel and shining with sweat. It’s all he can focus on, which is lucky really because a bathroom in a club is hardly the classiest or most convenient place to do this but he just _had to_ have him tonight after that display on the dancefloor.

Louis realises that Harry’s hands and arms have been fairly free to move all this time and that he hasn’t really bothered to challenge until now, as sizeable palms latch onto his arse and squeeze hard. He’s not sure if the thudding is from his own body or the muffled playback of the music outside the toilets, but the shudder that rips through him is definitely his. His curled fist is nearly almost trapped but he carries on, staring directly into Harry’s slowly blinking green gaze with a wholly determined expression.

“What will it take for you to come?” he asks huskily and Harry’s slick mouth falls open but no answer is forthcoming. “If I promise to fuck you later? Would you like that? Or do you want to fuck _me_? Feel my hands all over you again or yours in _my_ mouth, getting them wet and sucking on them like they’re your _cock_?”

Harry groans helplessly and Louis chuckles shakily into his neck before planting his lips there and pulling on the damp skin, hard. The pain should be like a tweak to the nipple – sharp and instant – but Louis likes to draw out the biting like he’s drawing out blood straight into his mouth. He’s satisfied when it gets to the top layer of flesh, flashing raging red until the splotch turns a darker shade when the next hour ticks over. The twin sensation of a sting and a slippery slide sends Harry crashing to his end, stuttering movement as he brokenly bucks his hips into Louis’ now unyielding touch. His hand flies to Louis’ nape and tugs him in, pouring all his breath into his body like he’ll be able to feel the reverberations of his orgasm through it. Whatever it is that he does, it works and Louis gasps as more stickiness slides down his suddenly rigid fingers.

After a moment of recuperation, they clean up their skin as thoroughly as they can before getting dressed. Something makes Louis sniff his fingers and he catches a distantly sour whiff of the bathroom surrounding them before Harry’s laugh distracts him. It will always distract him because it often sounds dirty and predictably Louis very much loves that about him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry praises with a grin, stealing another much softer kiss.

He clearly means that includes what they just did so Louis straightens his braces and quirks an eyebrow to affect an air of over the top confidence, “And don’t you forget it, babe. _Ever_.”

Harry snorts (unaffected) and turns to unlock the door when he freezes. Louis’ gaze lowers to where Harry’s is, fixed on the hem of his shirt. There are patches of damp darkness and it takes Louis a second to realise that they weren’t careful enough with their fun. Harry runs an agitated hand through his curls as he looks at him in slight displeasure and Louis bites back all the jokes about _crap aims_. They’ll figure it out somehow. Or not, he inwardly amends with the smugness of a job well done, rather taken with the idea of showing the world just how utterly Harry belongs to him.


End file.
